Melting Through the Frustrations
by Miss Forrester
Summary: Flatline has always been one of the most level-headed people aboard Megatron's ship. Always knew what she was doing, without a doubt, and could get the job done (whatever it may be) with minimal catastrophe. However, that all changed when Commander Shockwave was recovered from the ruins of Cybertron. Now, she can't seem to get anything right! If only there was a way to fix this.


"Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite, exquisite and melting her all molten inside."

- D. H. Lawrence

Flatline did not hate Shockwave. She needed to make that clear before anyone could make any mistaken assumptions. She _despised _him - loathed the cyclops with all of her being. She had never thought she could hate anyone as much as she did the Decepticon scientist. Not even Starscream, or that incorrigible Knock Out, could ever anger her just by entering a room. Not like Shockwave could.

And yet she found that she was unable to deny his offer.

The pretender would never have pegged the behemoth for being an overly sexual being, or even remotely _physical_, but, much to her surprise (and she hated him even more for surprising her - she had always been able to read people so well!), Shockwave had a particularly healthy interface-drive. Like any other mech (trust her on that - Knock Out had made the offer quite subtly after losing his partner to the treacherous spider), Shockwave had urges - urges that had, so far, remained unfulfilled.

How she had found this out was all a mistake. She had been ordered by her self-proclaimed master and leader, Lord Megatron, to aide the newly arrived Shockwave in his laboratory aboard the Nemesis. Apparently, though she had been sufficient as a field medic with her past training, she served as a far better scientist. Therein lied the problem.

She initially had no qualms about this re-assignation. In fact, she had been stoked. Finally! A chance to prove her worth where her interests lied most! She promised not to disappoint her new master (whom claimed, in a fit of amusement upon discovering that she was overjoyed with the turn of events, as well as delight to be receiving his favored scientist back from a rumored certain death, that he would be holding her to her word), and had moved her equipment from the med-bay to the laboratory that very day.

Knock Out was (unsurprisingly) sad to see her go. He made her promise to drop by and buff him whenever he required it, as she was quite the genius with her deft fingers and careful optics, and then he warned her about the scientist she would now be working alongside.

She didn't take his warning seriously, since, after all, being who he was, Knock Out tended to be intimidated by just about anybody. _First _mistake.

Flatline had found herself strangely intrigued, fascinated, even, by her new partner. The cyclops almost never said a word out of line, sticking to his logical reasoning under all circumstances (the very same antics that annoyed Commander Starscream tended to amuse her), but then as time began to pass, he began to pay far too much attention to her. First, it was merely helping her correct whatever minuscule mistake she made, which she appreciated - attention to detail was, after all, a skill to be coveted.

But then it blew beyond that, and she found herself annoyed by the very behemoth's presence, because now she had to work harder than ever just to avoid being criticized. And that was the most obnoxious undertaking she had ever tackled.

Earning his seal of approval was damn near impossible.

At times, she found herself so stressed out, so beyond her normal sphere of "eerie calmness" (as the Eradicons endearingly coined it), that she would flee to the med-bay to keep out of Shockwave's sight. She had allowed him to poke holes into her sense of reasoning, into her experimentation, into the very way she worked, but she would _not _allow him to see her emotional instability. She could not stand to put up with his claim that it was not _logical_. She _knew _it wasn't, damn him! Like Flatline, an expert Pretender, a self-taught medic, a well-learned scientist, needed to be told her emotions were _illogical_!

She knew it was stupid and pointless to feel anything other than due respect for her superior, but it was frustrating, infuriating, to know he would never approve of anything she did! Knock Out was at a loss of what to do, or say, to bring her back around, but their Second-in-Command, who had taken to spending considerably more time around the brilliantly-painted CMO, never had to do much besides make a snarky comment in regard to the scientist. She supposed her commander's spitefulness towards the head scientist was really what made her discover that she couldn't stand the mech she worked alongside. When she found herself agreeing with most of Starscream's commentary? That was a bad sign.

So she tried harder to keep her work efficient, to stay out of Shockwave's way, to avoid him as much as possible. But he seemed not to catch on. Either that, or he truly did not care. He continued on as usual, though Knock Out brought it to her attention that the mech was never far behind wherever she was, and that he tended to watch her more than he dared with anyone else aboard the Nemesis.

And then he began to intimidate the other Eradicons, the Commander, even Knock Out, himself, whenever they came "too close" to the femme. (Of course, no one dared to inform him that she was eerie enough on her own.)

This really could only culminate in their recent confrontation, one the others had not seen coming. Lord Megatron was out on the fields, battling Optimus Prime, and Starscream demanded to know if there was anything to be done in aide, as several of the officers had been wounded in the battle and Megatron would likely be requiring emergency medical (and perhaps backup) assistance (what with the impressive array of weaponry the Autobots now possessed). She suggested they send her out, as she did serve several different functions, such as field medic and assault mech (or femme, in her case). The Commander, stupid as he was, asked if her bondmate would mind.

Puzzled, she asked what he meant, which surprised the others around them (as they had really assumed she had been bonded). Starscream, making sure to give himself a wide berth from the curiously calm femme, answered what was on everyone's mind.

"Shockwave."

That alone was enough to send her into a fit of rage. She snapped, anger clearly blazing in her optics as the film over them snapped in her grasp when she attempted to pull it off in her frustration. Her golden optics, never having been fixed after the incident on Cybertron, filled with the furious glow of murderous intent, was enough to send several Eradicons fleeing from the Command Hub.

Starscream himself shrunk back, but all she managed to say before realizing _he _was watching, was, "Listen here, you useless hunk of scrap metal-"

Then, she spotted him. And she lowered her helm after a long moment of silence, forcing herself to regain her temper. She managed to apologize in a low tone of voice before promptly leaving the room, fully planning to head to her berthroom, to hole up and pretend no one else existed, as she often did when angered.

(Which hadn't happened in vorns until she'd met that slagging scientist.)

(She had even considered going rogue for the excuse of tearing out the mech's spark, herself.)

(And possibly force-feeding it to him.)

(If she could ever find that slagging mouth of his.)

(If he had one.)

Then, he had caught up, and now here they were, in this present predicament.

All because of what happened then.

Knowing how he preferred to keep his distance, how _logical _of a mech he was, it was a surprise to Flatline when the scientist offered his preposition. He suggested a hypothesis for their mutual frustrations with each other. (She was surprised to learn she had gotten under his seams, somehow, as well.)

They were attracted to each other. Fiercely. Pathetically, even. As unreasonably as possible. She had a feeling this _would _nag at a practical 'con like Shockwave, but she was _not _prepared for what came next.

He had offered a mutual physical relationship, without the attachment of emotions, the silly and illogical things. (She found herself surprisingly stung by that.)

And yet she could not refuse his offer.

He hypothesized that it would rid them of their sexual frustrations, and would allow them to resume their work as efficiently as possible without the anger and intolerance that had been clouding their judgment the past few metacyles.

Though she knew _his _reasoning for the coupling, she couldn't help not caring. The way he hovered lately _had _been stirring up some kind of unfamiliar sentiment in her, had made her hyper-aware to his every movement, had made her come to both loathe and long for his presence. It was stupid, and silly, and intoxicating.

He gazed down at her so steadily, so seriously, and his large frame towered over hers, the heat of his metal warming her at this close proximity. He stood so close she had to crane her neck to look into his single eye. And the way his fingers twitched, she knew he was restraining himself from taking her right there, in the hallway mere kliks away from the eyes of any wandering bystander.

Her anger, the irrationality of it all, must have aroused him something fierce, she realized. Perhaps he actually found himself attracted to everything that was illogical in her? The thought was something worth a study. So she accepted the offer.

(Also because the look he was giving her, and the way his EM field felt wrapped around hers, was just plain delicious.)

She doubted the mech even knew how a pressurized spike worked, nonetheless how to use it. But, it was worth a go. If it turned out terrible, then she would delight in teaching him how to perfect his technique. (After all, as a _scientist_, it was her _duty _to see this project through to the end, wasn't it?) And if it turned out well, she was in for a great time, anyways.

Either way, it was a win-win situation for her.

Flatline could hear the purr in her own voice, something she had never knew she could do, when she ran her fingers, very lightly, teasingly, over the metal of his chasis. She accepted. And he did not waste any time in asking her to follow him back to his berthroom.

She followed, stabilizing servos trembling slightly, though she stood tall and proud, practically strutting beside the behemoth, who glanced down towards her, catching the glean of smug enthusiasm in her cracked golden optics, before he turned quickly away.

He asked about the optics, wondering why she had not repaired them, and she knew she could just give him the same response she gave everyone else who saw them, could explain that they worked better with examination, for whatever reason, especially when paired with the film (the very same one she would have to repair, now that she had broken it in her childish tantrum). But she was feeling particularly petulant.

So she answered with the most illogical, unreasonable thing she could think of. "I like it better this way." He gave no response, but judging from the twitch of his fingers, her assumption was proven as true: he was attracted to her absolute disregard for logic.

And so here they were. Flatline lay on the berth, a coy smile playing at her lips. Shockwave loomed above her, analyzing the femme's every curve and node, her every twitch and flex. The pretender stretched out her lithe limbs, and noted that his optic followed the motions with interest.

"Well," she began, settling on the berth, her thin fingers brushing lightly over the surface, "I was promised something a bit more _physical _than staring, was I not?"

Her words seemed to jolt the mech out of whatever trance he had fallen into as Shockwave swiveled his helm to the femme's face. She shivered slightly, not unnerved, but _intrigued_, by the faceless contours.

She had always been a strange femme with a taste for the macabre, but a mech with no visible face? This was a new low.

He kneeled onto the berth, maneuvering himself until he straddled her smaller frame.

And then he stared at her for some time, his frame hovering above hers. Flatline tried not to squirm under his scrutiny, but she could not help it that her metal began to heat up under the force of his steady gaze.

"Shockwave, as _endearing _as I find your undivided attention," she purred, fingers trailing down over his shoulders, lower, lower, over his strong arms, until her servos came to rest over his, "we don't have all cycle before Lord Megatron calls us to attention for another task." Her optics flickered, raising to meet his gaze.

Low rumbling was his only reply before the scientist took his liberties, seeing as how she had already proven fearless with that endeavor, herself. His fingers wandered over every bit of metal they encountered, occasionally catching on sensitive seams. His servo was much too large to reach under her delicate plating, to run across her hypersensitive wiring, but she didn't raise any complaint.

Instead, she brought herself out of her haze with a self-reminder that the agreement was for a _mutual _physical relationship. She felt it was only fair to reciprocate some of the attention she was receiving. Her fingers easily slipped underneath his armor, twinning wires and tweaking nodes as she went, with the practiced ease only a medic could boast. The larger mech gave a rumbling groan in response, and she was startled to realize it was not a dream or particle of her processor's doing - she had really pulled forth such an unrestrained reaction, from _Shockwave_, with little more than her touch.

(Had he been waiting for this longer than she imagined?)

"My commander is eager, isn't he?" her voice was low, digits playing with a cluster of wires on his abdomen. Arching into her touches (again, to her own surprise), Shockwave's own fingers found the sensitized wiring running alongside her thigh, mere kliks from her interface latch. This time, it was her turn to raise her voice in appreciation.

She vocalized a low moan, her panel sliding back to offer a slowly-lubricating valve and a half-pressurized spike. One she doubted she would be making use of.

Bypassing the spike (as expected), one of his large digits slowly slipped past the nodes alongside the entrance of her valve. It stung, admittedly, even despite the slight lubrication, and Flatline whined softly.

He paused, single optic meeting hers, seeing that she was not in severe distress, only mild discomfort (that he calculated was to be expected), and then he decided to continue his progress. His digit slowly began to slide back and forth between the nodes, in and out of her tight and warm valve. Her servos slowly migrated their way up over his chasis, coming to rest there contently. Flatline sighed as her valve began to supply more lubricant, the burning began to fade, giving way to a subdued pleasure.

Noticing the chance, Shockwave added another digit, stretching her valve with slow, scissoring motions. Pushing and pulling roughly, he twisted both digits roughly, without warning, the tips rubbing against the nodes in her valve.

Flatline's voice was louder this time, thin fingers scratching at his plating. Bits of paint chipped, flaking off onto the berth, but neither seemed to notice. Not long after, Shockwave slipped in a third digit, and she arched with pleasure. Her fingers clutched at his back plating, pulling the scientist closer to her frame.

Her hips moved now, rolling into his motions, as she keened aloud.

Apparently satisfied with his preparations, Shockwave's panel opened with a click. Her optics lowered, even through the hazy film of lust clouding her processor. His spike, fully pressurized, jutted out with a hint of pride, and she gawked at the mere size of it.

It was admittedly large, full, and she couldn't help but feel excited by the prospect of having _that _inside of her. Before Shockwave could move, however, Flatline decided to investigate, and ran her curious fingers alongside its length, purring at the firmness.

"Well, this is _certainly _a nice surprise." She traced the energon lines, mapping it out over the surface of his impressive equipment, and felt a level of gladness she couldn't begin to explain to herself, or to anyone, when she heard him growling in what she could only assume was appreciation.

His optic followed her movements almost hypnotically, before he decided enough was enough. Shockwave pulled her fingers away, bracing a servo against the berth's surface before he began to push into her eager valve.

She arched up against him, intakes harsh as she panted. The spike was stretching her past her limits, as she had expected, but she couldn't help relishing in the burn. Flatline felt her calipers clutch around his length, and she gasped out.

Eventually, the spike sat snugly inside her stuffed valve. She cried out in a manner that would normally embarrass her had she realized how wanton she sounded. (And had she been coherent enough to care.)

The nodes in her valve were burning, sending flares of pleasure up through her systems, and his optic drank in the expression of pure bliss on her faceplate, awaiting any signs of discomfort. Not seeing any, he pulled out, slowly, before slamming back into her, picking up a brutal pace.

She shrieked, her servos scrambling over Shockwave's plating, before eventually finding their way to his shoulders, where they clutched desperately. Her grip created crevices in the plating, but he paid them no mind, so neither did she.

In fact, Shockwave grasped at her firm aft, pulling her up closer in order to reach a different angle. The femme moaned out in delight as her ceiling node was mercilessly pounded by the large mech, and her cooling fans roared with the effort to keep her systems at a stable temperate, her optics nearly offlining from the pleasure.

Back bowed at a near painful angle, Flatline felt the powerful rippling of an approaching overload. She gasped in pleasure, chanting pleas for more, more, _more Primus slaggit!_ before a white haze washed over her, coating her EM field in bliss.

Overload.

She screamed out his designation, her valve gripping his spike almost painfully. All the while, Shockwave continued his movements without any hint of slowing down, pounding into her valve with a renewed fervor. She keened without restraint of volume, no longer caring about the embarrassment of being overheard.

After a few more punishing thrusts, Shockwave stilled, his optic offlining for a klik or two as the sensation of overload washed over his EM field, crashing into her own field as well and causing her to overload a _second _time. His spike released a rush of transfluids into her valve, and she whimpered, squirming as the fluids began to leak out of her valve and stain the berth beneath them.

He rumbled, his own fans running at top speed to cool him down, before gently extracting himself from her spent valve. His spike retracted behind his panel, the steam from both of their frames forming a solid layer around the room.

Flatline was trying to catch her breath when Shockwave looked down at her with that unnerving single optic. "Were the results satisfactory?"

"Well, I am _definitely _looking forward to the next time, if that's any clue to my answer."


End file.
